imagine a world
by CrossGeneration
Summary: Patient Dean Winchester's world is being torn apart and it seems there's nothing in this world that is able to put him back together. Doctor Castiel has just admitted a very delicate and dangerous patient into his ward, yet there seems to be more than just his job that wants him to comfort the other man. This is a love bound, not to prosper, but to be torn apart.
1. imagine a world

_imagine_

* * *

It had been a couple of weeks since his dad had been missing, a couple of days since Dean was sure he was dead. Now, with no other relative or even friend, Dean had parked outside of his younger brother's dorms at Stanford. He reprimanded himself for not eating properly since the time his father had disappeared-how else was he supposed to keep up his strength-and stopped at a fast food joint on his way towards here. California just had the best burgers, although their french fries were a bit on the bland side. Though, those were made up by the girls down at the beach and so forth; Dean didn't know how reliable they were as a long-term companion or as a partner, but having no brains didn't affect him-as long as they were easy on the eyes. Or easy in bed. Preferably both.

The hunter sighed, finished his soda, and aimed a well-balanced shot towards the trashcan with the can. The aluminum landed with a satisfying, ringing thump as it landed inside the larger metal can. He scoffed at himself. Here he was, thinking about how to get girls into bed with him while his brother was safely in college, studying away for his future. He always knew that Sammy was going to achieve more, better things than him. He wondered if Sam was just always bound to a different fate and lifestyle than others from hunter families, himself included. He tried to imagine himself sitting at a desk for even an hour straight, a stranger blabbing on about one particular subject that would will most likely not affect his life later on, not to mention the paperwork later one and then the studying, and then the _tests_. He shuddered. Oh well, Dean thought as he finished his cheeseburger. Higher education wasn't for everybody.

Cleaning himself up, he wiped off the crumbs and grease with a napkin before throwing it into the nearby cupholder as a temporary trash can. He would throw it away. Eventually. He breathed deeply through his nerves, calming himself before he went to see his younger brother, practically raised as his son, whom he hadn't made contact with for a couple of years. Would Sam even recognize him? Would Dean be able to recognize him? Dean himself become more lean within the year, and walked a bit differently due to the various injuries that he suffered throughout the numerous hunts he had gone on. He wondered if his father and he were simply not meant to be. Certainly, they worked together, but as they spend the years in a small, confined space...it was really, only their main objective that kept them together. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend," his father used to say. Dean thought the world was more of a palette of grays and hues that varied depending on the situation, the time, the feeling. Even their motives were different: John wanted to get revenge on his wife but Dean didn't really know how to do anything else, this was his life. Shaking his head, he dispelled of his continuously wandering thoughts and got out of the car, making sure that his baby was all locked up and secure before walking towards the little steps that led up to the building.

He stared at the little white button for a while before bringing his index finger up to poke at it. He remembered a time when he was hunting a werewolf (which turned out to be a pack) that had slaughtered multiple cats of an old lady that lived above a small, family bakery. She was nice but her dozens of cats weren't as friendly. He probably should dedicate an entire page in his notebook (or his father's, depends on how you look at it) for her: Cat lady in Louisiana. You can't get weirder than Louisiana. Shaking his head yet a _second_ time, he cleared his thoughts and steeled his will. Memories of his nerd brother came to mind as he continuously pressed the white button that made that little, annoying 'bzzzz' sound. The scrawny boy that loved to read books half his body weight. The little boy that didn't understand why his father hated the world so much. The young adult, slightly short of a man, that wanted to pave a path for himself. He pressed the button yet once again.

Dean felt it before he saw it. It was like that "sixth sense" that everyone believed was bullshit, but once you get into enough fights and risky situations, you knew when something bad was about to happen. But everything, literally everything around him, was progressing at a much-too-quick rate within the split second after he felt the rumbling and the shaking and the fear. He barely managed to cover his ears before a bright white light blinded him-a noiseless flash-and an invisible being violently forced him off of his feet and onto his back on the hard concrete road. Dazed, he managed to crawl over debris and broken glass towards Baby, distantly hearing a scream through the ringing in his ears. His head cleared a bit as he managed to touch the worn and frayed rubber of her tires, and at that moment there was only one thought going through his head, one word that mattered:

"Sam!"

Blissful nothing.

* * *

 _a world_


	2. where everybody is safe

_where everybody_

* * *

Dean was drifting in an endless expanse of darkness, an eternal hell. There was no end and no beginning, just pain and grief and emptiness... And yet there were audible sounds, nagging at the back of his mind, distant and faint. Voices talking and something beating, breathing... If only he could _focus-_

"Bombing _..._ came yesterday...create world where...heroes, flawed but noble." A middle-aged man, and a professional by the sound of it. They kind of sounded like the therapists that Dean had to see when he was in that one high school (what was the name again?) for a bit, trying to take him away from his family and claiming that there was something wrong with both of them. Sammy had gotten him out of that mess, and he remembers rustling the unruly brown hair on his short-stack of a brother...Papers rustled. Two sets of breathing. A beeping in the background seemed to get faster and more urgent, but the man speaking didn't seem to be able to notice. "It appears to be genetic: his father, John Winchester, was hauling the two boys across the country, _hunting_ something. A some sort of "yellow-eyed demon" from the looks of his old files, from the Bermuda Institute. Perhaps his death is what caused the violent trigger of the younger Winchester's schizophrenia. Honestly, I don't even know why they let him out. After the death of his wife, the visions became, to mildly put it, extremely vivid. It would seem that Dean Winchester is building upon the world his father left for him, though his younger brother seemed fine. An excellent though mentally normal law student at Stanford." They were talking about Sam, though as if he wasn't here. Where was he? He needed to tell him that father was missing. The beeping become more insistent as the time went by. Dean wasn't sure, but he thought that the beeping matched his heartbeats, loud and overwhelming in his ears. Where was he? Who were these people? He needed to leave. He needed to get out.

The second person started to talk. "Then, do you think, perhaps if we convince him that his father's world wasn't a reality-"

Dean jumped up from the bed, pulling a vital monitor and the IV with him. The two talking doctors-one African-American with a consistent frown and the other Caucasian with shocked blue eyes-immediately got to their feet as well. The one with blue eyes spoke up first, voice low and yet comforting; he was the second person. Strangely, he spoke as if they had met before, as if they had known each other for a very long time. "Dean, don't worry. You're in someplace safe-" Said man cut him off, throwing the IV needle and bag at him. He pulled out the vital machine, and it screamed with the lack of a heartbeat to measure. "My name is Castiel, and this is Uriel..." It was obvious that he was trying to calm him down.

Yet instead of calming down, the green-eyed male raged. They took his Sammy, the sweet little nerd boy who was too smart for his own good and like to question things a lot and thrived off of morality, and if someone or something takes his Sammy, they were going to pay. "Where is he? Where the hell is my brother?! Where did you demons _take_ him?!" Dean saw red and grabbed the closest thing to a weapon he could grab-a chair-and started to swing at everywhere, upsetting the bed and the machines though the two spawns of hell managed to evade his every move. The blue-eyed one ducked just as the chair flew above his head and into the door. His eyes were wide in shock, but not panic. Dean, against all his will, felt himself admire the man. (If he was a man at all.) Usually when a flying chair was rushing towards them, they screamed or ran. This "Castiel" was taking it like a soldier; his father would've been impressed with his skills in dodging a flying objectile in such a small space, but Dean's interest was piqued in the way his deep voice stayed steady and calm.

He mentally scolded himself. He was probably a monster. They all were. And they took Sammy. He was looking for another chair to grab when two more men ran into the room, and as Dean's attention flew to them Castiel jumped and tackled him to the bed, trying to avoid flinging limbs and flying fists. The other doctor pushed down his arm and pushed the needle into his arm. In his mad rage, Dean couldn't feel the pinch or the blood as he tried to escape the grip of the horrifying monsters. Were they wendigos? Vampires? He doubted they were spirits of a short, perhaps maybe they were demons but he couldn't tell from this viewpoint...

After a few moments, his movements became sluggish and he couldn't help but to thump his head down onto the bed. Dark spots filled his vision, and he knew he was losing his grip. Though his movements slowed and his eyes narrowed, his panic rose until they could no more. His brother was captured, his father was dead, these demons were going to kill him, no they were going to drag his soul down to torture him, to try and get him to beg for mercy, to try and get him to pray for the "God" that he could never see or hear or feel

A low voice, compelling him back towards the deep and endless darkness, towards his own personal hell, towards... "Sleep. Please." And those sad blue eyes were the last thing he saw before he lost consciousness.

* * *

 _is safe_


	3. where there is rest

_where there_

* * *

Castiel walked into his office, bleary-eyed and pale-faced. Every step was a struggle and his vision seemed foggy, at best. Even in high school his insomnia didn't hit him as hard. He had thought that with age it would get better; it did not.

With a sigh, he hung his leather bag over the back of his wooden chair and placed his triple-shot Starbucks coffee cup on the desk he rarely had the luxury of sitting at for long. It wasn't particularly comfortable but he had half a mind to put his head down and try to catch a couple winks if nothing out of the ordinary happens. But of course, when he heard the doorknob handle turn, he nearly groaned in complaint. He had once tried to get used to the weary lifestyle, but it just seemed to get harder and harder.

"You officially have another patient in your ward," were the first words that Castiel heard that Thursday morning. Uriel, a fellow coworker at the Sioux General Institute, handed him a manilla folder familiar and identical to several others inside the cabinet behind the large wooden desk. "Good luck with him," Uriel said, before walking out. Castiel sighed, remembering the heated episode with his new patient. Certainly, he had patients that were more than a bit difficult, but they normally didn't have the strength of a demon. He was sore and bruised in numerous places, more than he bothered to count. Rubbing his eyes with his free hand, he placed the file named 'Dean Winchester' on his desk. He could look at that later. Right now, he had a group counseling session to go to.

They were all already waiting for him when he got in the room. He put a big smile on his face, addressing each and every one. "How are you feeling?" They went around in a circle like always. Becky, to Castiel's right, went first. "Oh! I made a new friend!"

This was an interesting turn of events: usually, she was moping about now having more people to make friends with. "Who might that be?"

"Bells!" Her arms went around the apathetic woman next to her, shocked at having been disturbed while inspecting her nails. She shook the blonde off of her, replying in an icy tone. "My name is Bela, if you would so kindly refer to me as."

"Bells is just getting use to this friendship thing," Becky went on, completely ignoring the other woman. She tended to get stuck inside of her own mind and emotions. On the other hand, Bela couldn't care less about...anything, really. How they managed to even talk to each other was a mystery. Becky pet Bela's hair like the latter was a very valued pet. "She's cold on the outside, but I'm sure she has a soft side somewhere."

Castiel moved on. "Benny, how was your day?" The man shrugged in response. "Gotta live for the next day, my friend. There's nothing else we can do." Castiel didn't know what to do with that information; he moved on once again.

"How's that book going, Chuck?"

Another shrug, and some muscle spasms. "Writer's block."

"Donna?"

"My diet isn't going very well." Oh, good news for once. Castiel was glad that they were able to separate her from her abusive boyfriend; his remarks and sadistic tendencies forced her to severe anorexia and his asphyxiation tendencies during sex caused brain damage. She was doing much better, but nothing seemed to be able to put her back together. "But I think I'm going to start again."

"Now, what would you achieve from that?"

"I...people would love me more. _He_ didn't love me because I was too ugly." A flash of anger and helplessness spread through Castiel before he gave Donna another smile. "Ugliness doesn't determine how much love you receive, especially here. Please remember that, Donna."

"Now, Eleanor..." Castiel trailed off, looking around the room. He sighed. "Who organized everybody into alphabetical order again?" All pointed looks directed his own gaze towards a tall, skinny male that was shifting nervously in his seat. "It was too messy," Garth blurted out. "I just sorted things out. And I couldn't stop thinking about the alphabet yesterday. Someone was trying to tell me something, and I couldn't even sleep!" His nervous tick of rubbing his wrists until they were rubbed raw and red came back again. The circle of about seven people were small enough that the doctor could reach over and gently separate his hands. "It's okay, Garth. Just come talk to me or another doctor when you can't sleep, alright?"

He nodded.

"Alright, so does anyone care to share..."

After the group therapy ended Castiel made his way towards the front desk. There was some paperwork that he had to fill out to make sure that former patient Hamish Batson's would be able to be released quickly. He hadn't even gone more than two hallways when something forced him to slam into the wall, arm twisted behind his back in a painful and awkward position. Someone's breath was hot on his neck, and even from this angle Doctor Novak could tell that the patient was panicking. The blue-eyed male inhaled and exhaled several time, keeping himself calm. God knows this wasn't the first time he had been manhandled by one of his patients. And by the strength, it was probably the new one.

"Excuse me-"

"Christo." Ah, so it _was_ the newest one.

"Dean? Please let go of me." He was released but then spun around again so that instead of his face, it was his back pressed against the wall. How wonderful. Angry and familiar green eyes stared into his own, anticipating _something_. "Dean...Winchester, was it? Now, if you release me we can talk this out like civilized adults." They were dangerously close, and Castiel was close enough to be able to count each individual freckle on the other man's nose and cheeks. For some reason, that seemed very innocent on such a hurt and dark man such as Dean Winchester.

Suddenly, Winchester backed off, eyes flickering from his face to the wall and back. "You...No, no that's not possible." He stalked off, running down the hall and out of sight around a corner. Castiel sighed, brushing himself off and walking off in the opposite direction. Sometimes he wondered if it was possible to have a normal lifestyle and a normal workstyle.

Well, if he had wanted normal he wouldn't have chosen to work in a mental hospital.

* * *

 _is rest_


End file.
